Discipline
by jacob
Summary: “Or, maybe you have grown accustomed to your position of influence, and saw no more need to consort with me. Was that it, Lucius, did you feel your position could grant you amnesty from your past? From me, the Dark Lord Who Is Not Named?"


Disclaimer—This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. So hah.

A/N—EmmyLou had a thread at FictionAlley where she farms hundreds of Plot Bunnies for use by random writers. This is one of them, **Voldemort's thoughts as he tortures Lucius Malfoy**. Thank you to The Eighth Weasley, a beta of the first order who is truly wonderful! This story was originally posted on another profile, but I decided to move it here because, frankly, I think more people will read it this time around

Telltale quote: "Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. "You need to _mean_ them, Potter! You need to really want you cause pain—to enjoy it—righteous anger won't hurt me for long—I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson—"

**Discipline**

"Well, Lucius, what do you have you to say for yourself, my dear friend?"

The remark is not a question. Lucius, of course, knows this and does not answer. I smile in the fashion that I am able to these days.

Lucius stands before me, his eyes properly downcast but his head tilted upwards just enough that I can see his face. My tongue flicks out and tastes the air, sampling the complex texture of the emotions hanging there. I know as well as Lucius does that I am not looking for excuses, and indeed had he given them I might have had to hurt him.

As I do now. "I am well aware that you have a son, Lucius. Perhaps, you wished to spare Draco from following in your… footsteps." I draw the last word out like a ragged wound.

Still Lucius doesn't move, although if one were to taste the air as I can, it would be rich with emotion--emotion that does not dare cross Lucius's face. He appears to be carved out of alabaster. Lucius is ever the powerful aristocrat, always in control, always the dominant force.

It is such a pleasure to reduce this composed man to a groveling mess. Not only because I can, but also because he has wronged me. I take a great deal of pleasure in taking those who have wronged me and reminding them of their place. A simple pleasure that is near and dear to me.

"Or, maybe you have grown accustomed to your position of influence, and saw no more need to consort with me. Was that it, Lucius, did you feel your position could grant you amnesty from your past? Were you fool enough to think you could ever escape my reach? Escape from me, the Dark Lord Who Is Not Named?"

Ah, Lucius, you betray yourself there. I need not even to use my mind; I can taste the bit of fear roll off you. The great serpent in me knows your fear. I can allow a smile now; such is the way of things. One by one I have gone through my Death Eaters, confronting them over leaving me: Avery cried like a child, Nott wept as I stared at him. Crabbe and Goyle broke before I touched them; McNair stared at me with all the wild fear of one of the beasts he so slaughtered. They bled like the cattle they are, pathetic lumps of human failings.

Failings I am beyond.

But you, Lucius, you stand there and betray nothing. The others are useful in their fashion, necessary tools. Their terror, their groveling, is nothing before me. To make the weak quake in their boots is something any fool can do. A true master of power can break the strongest of men without even touching them.

"Oh, Lucius, what would your son say if he knew you feared not for his sake, but for your own skin?"

Lucius continues to stare at my feet, where it is proper for his eyes to rest. "I feel he would understand, my lord."

Ah, yes. Yes, the boy, coward that he is, would understand. If only Lucius knew what I know, that this line of reasoning is false. If he could simply realize in the deepest part of his mind that one cannot keep secrets from me. Poor Lucius has had years to get used to my absence, to forget that I cannot be misled. It is time he is reminded. "But we both know, Lucius, that this is not the case."

He stiffens and I chuckle, the darkness seems to swallow the noise of amusement and mute its edges, casting the humor in black relief. Lucius has become unnerved and his breathing quickens slightly.

"Rather, Lucius, you care for the boy above all else. You do not wish for me to take him, is that it?"

The question requires an answer, and Lucius knows this. He also knows if he should take too long, the answer will be all too apparent. The silence hangs still for a second, a scream waiting to happen.

I smile as Lucius draws a breath.

"My lord, I cannot help wishing to keep my son safe and secure. He is young and naïve and would be more of a hindrance to our grand effort than a help."

Only Lucius would dare to give me such cheek. Only Lucius could do so in a style that amuses me. Still, he has made an error, an error that perhaps only one other of my Death Eaters could see, fools that they are. He has admitted to weakness, and I cannot allow weakness.

"Lucius, dear friend, old friend, I shall not have your son on the front lines. I think I know your real fear, Lucius. You fear that Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter are going to win this war of ours."

The rest is unsaid, for it does not need to be. That Lucius should consider me weak, that he thinks I am not strong enough to win this war. That he thinks so angers me in a fashion I cannot quite place my finger on.

Lucius has grown pale in the fashion that is no longer unemotional; his face is no longer poetic equanimity. He is pale with the terror that only the truly intelligent can dream up for themselves and I relish it. Yet his face is still blank, still an effort to never display his emotions.

Oh, Lucius, you truly are a marvel.

"Lucius, my friend, I cannot punish you for these faults. To care for your pureblood family is something that is right, and just." It is--his love for his family is something I can only dream about, and I am not one to begrudge young Draco his father's love.

But I do require his father's utter devotion.

"However, Lucius, that you should doubt me--troubles me. Perhaps young Draco should join us, so that I need never worry about your conviction again?"

Lucius' eyes have gone wide and I can feel my own narrowing with delight. I cannot yet control this body in all respects, but its powers are already beyond formidable.

"Master, please, I beg you, do not yet involve Draco." He falls to his knees so graciously. Lucius can actually turn begging into an aristocratic art.

I can only smile as he prostrates himself on the floor for me, kissing the hem of my robe. Lucius does not grovel in the fashion those before him have, wailing and weeping at turns, begging without pride and spine. To do so not only demeans him, but it demeans the discourse.

Unfortunately for Lucius, the rules have changed. I require more.

"But, Lucius, how can I trust you if you are holding back on account of your family?"

Yes. I can feel the fear from him now, rich and cultivated. It is like drinking fine wine after tasting only vinegar for so long. Lucius's fear awakens something inside me, a terrible appetite I can only hold back by the barest of margins. The very magic sunk into my body, borne out of fear, flesh, and blood, is stirring.

"Master—my lord—please, I beg of you to allow me another chance, another choice. Draco is a child and he knows not what he does. He lacks the subtlety necessary to carry himself in your glorious name, and his hatred of Potter will drive him to irrational actions. If he were to be revealed as one of your servants, it would cast the glory of servitude in your name into a shadow, to your own detriment, master."

Lucius is a slippery devil and I grow weary of this game. He speaks frankly, and I allow him that, because I need his reasoning and talents. Here, though, I can feel a sickly anger boil in my veins, the only thing keeping my cold body warm.

"Lucius, my slippery, cunning friend, you do your House proud. I shall consider what you have said. Know that I have no desire to harm young Draco, merely propel him up to the glorious destiny I will achieve. The Dark Lord can forgive your care for your family."

Yes, now the relaxation, the letting down of the guard, be it ever so slight, that he cannot help. The moment of weakness so fleeting that to catch it requires greatest powers of observation—powers I possess in limitless quantity.

"However…" oh, yes, I can savor the word, the moment I utter it, where Lucius, still on his bent knees, quivers for a moment. I can taste the sweet feeling of raw unaltered terror burst forth from him in a torrent before the dam is slammed back up. The moment draws on for an eternity as I feel something in my eyes light. I know that I now look like some dark god, some avatar of evil given form. Such conceptions are for the weak; there is nothing but power and its usage. What is considered evil is nothing more than the result of fools justifying their fear of ambition.

"I do not forgive your impudence in doubting me, in abandoning me, in defying me by your very thoughts… Indeed, I cannot allow such a thing to pass unpunished. You have to understand Lucius; I do this not because I hate you, but because it must be done. Can you forgive me, Lucius?"

His breath comes in short puffs now as he steels himself. The anticipation alone is worth a thousand mewling lesser wizards' cries.

"Of course, master, a thousand times yes."

Ah, Lucius, it is almost a pity to break this moment, to break this artistic medium we have created. Yet the creation of something so beautiful also means its destruction, because after giving life, you must take it to prove your power.

"Thank you, Lucius." I allow the moment to sit, to be drawn out.

Lucius is shaking ever so slightly. I can barely see it, but the tremors reverberate in the air as I flick my tongue out to gently caress the wind. My wand is flourished without even thinking about it, the desire to break so strong I cannot resist it.

"_Crucio_." Oh, yes. Pain is ever so sweet.

Lucius cries out involuntarily and gives himself up to me. His hands scrabble over the rock and scrape so hard they bleed.

I can hear his piteous begging and know he is once again mastered to my heel--but only for a time, for a moment that exists and then is gone. Such is not allowed.

I relent, giving him a moment to regain his composure and release himself. The terrible pain of the curse recedes, allowing him to regain his trembling sanity. Just for a moment, though, a mere second, before I must punish him once more.

"Now, Lucius, do you still doubt me?"

He looks up at me in terror and I have no choice: one does not look into my eyes without being invited. No one.

This time he screams with an added note as his control is ripped from him. His body is rigid as he tries futilely to stop the arcing spasms from contorting his body. How incredibly delicious this is, this bending of a man's spirit.

I do not seek to break Lucius in the sense of shredding him, but to re-forge him into my servant. One must be most careful with re-forging a wizard.

I relent once more, and his dry gasps speak of pain that I can easily imagine. Lucius is weak, but not weak enough. To truly make Lucius my own servant, he must become so of his own will.

A true master will have the sword forge itself.

"None can lie to me, Lucius, I see too much. Now, do you doubt my power?" This is it. This is the moment of truth…

"Yes, my lord, I doubt." His voice wheezes with pain.

I can feel exultation rise up within me; he admits his weakness because he is without recourse. He knows what it is to show weakness, that I cannot abide flaws in my Death Eaters. Yet at the same time, he cannot hide anything from me. His choices: to lie to me, or to give me the truth.

To lie would mean he is no longer trustworthy, that he would put his own well being ahead of mine. To tell the truth is to offer his mind and body up to me. This is the subservience I need and require.

"The truth will set you free, Lucius, and I am so glad you have done so. Still, I need insurance that you will never doubt me again. What more can I do, but to take your son into this war we shall soon wage?"

Here is the crux of the issue. Lucius must serve me as he did before, with all of his will and power. He cannot be distracted by the desire to secure his child a future, one that straddles the fence between weak and powerful, so that no matter who wins Draco will emerge safe. That is treason to my cause.

"Please, master, I beg of you, I shall swear any oath, make any pledge on my own blood and body, on my name and my wand, that I shall give you nothing but the finest of service."

The unspoken is heard all too loudly here, and I cannot let it go unsaid. "But I must leave the young dragon out of things? I do not know, Lucius, I do not know that your master can let a servant, however powerful, order him about."

"My Lord, I do not order by any means--I beg and submit myself to you in the most humble fashion."

"Lucius, you have already pledged your undying service to me. You are bound by my mark forevermore. Are you saying you were not truthful when these tenets were first laid upon you?" A sliver of anger slips into my tone, and I cannot help feel distaste at Lucius's weakness. He is beginning to disgust me, and that which disgusts me is trash not fit for me to spit upon, and so it is cast off.

"No, my Lord, never! I am as loyal as my soul can be, and I give to you as much as I possibly can. I merely beg, not command, but ask as a servant must ask his lord, to be allowed this one boon." His voice is becoming desperate.

I feel the anger ebb away as he cowers before me. To have reduced such an individual to no better a place than the least of supplicants is pleasing to me. "I do not know, Lucius—"

"My Lord, I BEG you, please!" His voice is raw with panic, bleeding with it, like freshly slaughtered meat.

I have done it. Lucius is weak and ready, his mind is torn and waiting to be crafted. But I feel my blood rising, and I need to unleash it properly.

And there is one more--one left who is perhaps even better a target than my dear Lucius Malfoy. For this one cannot break, cannot be molded, and he cuts with all the viciousness that I could ever desire. I shall break this one, as I never could have any of them. He shall beg before me and I shall know his true self as I strip away all else from him.

Lucius is still on the floor; he is healing and with each second grows stronger.

"Such weakness, Lucius! Perhaps I should simply kill you and allow Draco to rise in your place. He is strong enough for it, I think."

Lucius is now coated with terror so thick it has a physical component when I taste it.

"No, my lord, I beg of you spare my life, and spare my son. Please, I shall gift to you anything you desire, I will do anything you wish, I shall—"

"As if you would not do such things already?"

"Master, Draco is still a boy and he cannot do so much. I do not say I am indispensable--but I can do so much for you… Please allow me to live, that I might serve." Lucius's hands are clenched so hard they shake. His hair spills out and around his head as he sits there hunched over, his robes pooling around him like so much night. A pale moon resting on a shadow.

"As I said, Lucius, you should already be willing to do all these things for me in any case. But let it not be said that the Dark Lord is without mercy to his followers. I shall grant you the boon that Draco shall be safe for the time."

Lucius relaxes completely now, his wish has been granted and my word is a binding contract that I shall follow. I am merciful, but only to those who serve me without restriction. Lucius has never done so, and although I can respect the desire for power I cannot allow it.

Lucius's ambitions will have to be crushed before this is over, otherwise he will become a problem. Although he cowers before me now, he schemes with all the ingenuity for which our shared House is known. I understand that, and my understanding is all that spares him.

"You may leave, Lucius, but not without a reminder. None betray Lord Voldemort."

"_Legilimens doscelere_!"

The back of my mind reaches out and binds itself to Lucius through the curse. I see his eyes widen with pain as his mind is invaded. The curse will cause him the greatest agony, yet leave him unable to show it. His mind alone shall be tormented by something he cannot control.

This body, made of shadows and pain, feeds off the curse, off the agony emanating from Lucius. I feel alive and invigorated, reborn. Now, perhaps now that I am roused, I can begin with the last and most wayward of my returned Death Eaters.

"Oh, and Lucius?"

He had stood up and was backing out towards the door, bent at the waist to show his respect. His eyes focused on the floor despite the pain he must already be feeling--more proof that I can take any wizard and bend them to my will, even one such as Lucius Malfoy or--him. Yes, it was time for him to be properly disciplined for the highest of treachery. He would serve me once more as the most capable of my Death Eaters… or he would die a death beyond agony.

"Please tell Severus I wish to see him."


End file.
